


A Different Sort of Heartbreak

by niallandco



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, mention of Zerrie and Elounor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:08:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niallandco/pseuds/niallandco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has his heart broken, then mended, then broken again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Sort of Heartbreak

It’s not that he didn’t love it anymore-because he did, he really did-it’s just that it had gotten to be a bit too much. Everything is always too big, too loud, too bright, too often. He spent every day with the other four and not enough days with his mum. He would try to get away, to get out for some personal time and to escape the constant confinement of a bus or a hotel, only to end up mauled and attacked by the people that claimed to love him, the people that he did this for. When the rest of the boys decided to leave and go home for this brief two day break, Harry decided not to. He waved them goodbye with a heavy heart, knowing he couldn’t go home because, if he did, he would never come back. He willed himself to stay with Lou and Tom, to not run home and hide away and be alone and be with his family and to be Harry for more than the brief moments he gets at night, when he’s alone and unable to sleep.

Sleeping has been getting harder and harder. He misses the comfort of another body. He misses being able to cuddle up with someone who loves him-him not Harry Styles, popstar-and being able to relax into the comfort of the moment. His body always aches with jetlag and the constant exhaustion of late nights performing and early mornings on the road. He’s always grateful for their hotel stays, though; being the bunks on the bus are miserable. He can’t ever really rest with the bumping and the constant noise of the engine and Niall snoring just below him. Sometimes he and Zayn will sit together all night in the lounge, sharing small stories and trying to comfort one another.

He’s grateful for Zayn. They’ve grown closer since Harry and Louis had fallen apart because of rumors and lies. He cried a lot about that, about the things people were saying about them and to them, about the way Louis pulled away, as though he was disgusting with Harry. He still remembers the day Louis told him he wasn’t able to live with him anymore and how he couldn’t look Harry in the eyes, how he just left and didn’t come back or call Harry back for over two weeks. Sometimes he misses the comfort of drifting off to sleep with Louis and the way Louis always made him feel more secure, stronger, comforted. Zayn helps a lot, though, and he’s more open and honest and genuine than Louis could ever bring himself to be. Zayn knows everything about Harry and just how to calm his worries, to stifle his fears; Zayn knows just where to kiss away the sadness and the pain.

Harry was hesitant the first time: it had been a few months since he and Louis had last fallen asleep together, since they had been normal, and he was still nursing the heart broke of loving a boy who could never truly love him back. Harry hadn’t been able to sleep and he and Louis had gotten separate flats. Harry decided to go for a drive in the middle of the night and found himself in Zayn’s neighborhood. He buzzed for his flat and was surprised that to find Zayn was still up and let him in. Harry just sat there on Zayn’s couch, curled into his side and crying into his shoulder, while Zayn made comforting noises and patted his hair. They didn’t talk, Harry just cried until he fell asleep in Zayn’s arms.

That started to be a thing for them. They would wordlessly show up at each other’s homes, occasionally sharing a few words and stories. Harry learned a lot about Zayn. How he struggled with his own identity because of reactions towards his faith from fans-though Harry has a hard time calling the rotten ones fans. The same ones that drove Louis away and made Harry cry also mocked Zayn for his race and religion; they mocked Niall for his braces and berated Liam for wanting a few measly hours of sleep. Harry remembers the first time he saw Zayn’s eyes-those beautiful, multicolored, expressive eyes-fill and overflow with tears. Zayn never made noise when he cried; his tears always streamed silently down his face. It was in stark contrast to Harry’s loud, wrecked sobs. Harry always found Zayn’s silent tears harder than loud sobbing. He always wanted to brush all the tears away; he wanted to hold Zayn into his chest and hold him and tell him everything was going to be okay. Harry wanted to protect Zayn from the world and to keep him safe.

Their first kiss was a month after Harry had shown up, unannounced, at Zayn’s flat. Harry had been on twitter-always a bad idea-and saw comments about his newest tattoo. After reading that he was “ugly” and a “fucking moron” so many times, he finally tossed his phone and stormed out of his flat as tears stung his eyes, driving as quickly as he could to Zayn. Zayn opened the door, sleepy and in only a pair of shorts, gesturing Harry in. He headed back towards his kitchen and Harry heard the noises of him putting on a kettle. He padded wordlessly back to where Harry was still in the doorway, tears streaking his cheeks and his breathing shaky. Zayn looked into Harry’s eyes. Harry saw Zayn’s concern and confusion and answered the question Zayn was silently asking him: what’s wrong?

“Everyone thinks I’m stupid and ugly and awful,” Harry choked out quietly between gasping sobs. He looked down, his vision was blurring with tears, his face was hot, and his chest felt tight as he struggled to breathe and control his emotions. He heard Zayn breathe out a long sigh and he looked up. Zayn smiled at him sadly and shook his head.

“Harry,” he said, his voice soft and comforting, “you’re perfect and everyone is wrong.” Harry was blinking in disbelief and shaking his head when Zayn stepped up to him and reached his hands up to Harry’s face. He held Harry’s face in his hands, wiping his thumb gently across Harry’s cheekbones to brush away the tears on his face. Zayn softly caressed Harry’s cheeks and dragged a thumb down to swipe along Harry’s lower lip, which was swollen and red from Harry worrying it between his teeth on the drive here. Harry pulled in a deep, shaky breath and brought his hands up to hold Zayn’s wrists, closing his eyes and leaning into Zayn’s palms. He turned his face and kissed one of Zayn’s hands. Zayn sharply inhaled and Harry opened his eyes, turning to look at him again. Zayn’s eyes were wide and searching Harry’s face. Harry was about to ask Zayn what he was staring at when Zayn surged forward, settling his lips onto Harry’s. It was a soft and warm kiss. Zayn’s stubble was scratching Harry in a way he wasn’t used to but he found pleasant. His lips were surprisingly soft and he was gentle, as if he was trying to mend Harry’s wounds with his kiss. Harry tightened his grip on Zayn’s wrists and leaned down, deepening the kiss.

He needed this. He needed someone to love him and to mend him and make him better and whole again. The one time he’d ever kissed Louis, Louis had shoved him off and made it very clear that the romantic feelings in that relationship were very one sided. He had tried to play it off, but Harry knew things were different. After Harry had kissed him, Louis was more distant. He spent more time with Eleanor and fewer nights in their apartment. He stopped inviting Harry into his bed at night. He moved out just a few weeks after the kiss. Harry still cried thinking about the kiss, about how he fucked everything up with it.

Zayn pulled back from Harry rubbed his thumb along Harry’s cheekbone. He smiled softly at him before pulling his hands gently from Harry’s grip and padding off to the kitchen to silence the whistling kettle. Harry toed off his shoes and followed him. Zayn had made two mugs of tea and was holding them. He raised his brows at Harry and turned, walking off to his room. Harry had followed him in, shedding all of his clothes except his briefs at the door, and curled up into bed with Zayn. They sipped their tea and cuddled that night, sharing soft touches and kisses until they drifted off to sleep.

Things went that way for a while, one of them would show up at the other’s place every night, whether they were particularly sad or not. They never really agreed who would go where but it always worked itself out. They’d share tea and touches until they fell asleep, a mess of limbs and love.

Some nights, they would talk. Between their soft kisses and giggles, they’d tell each other things. Harry didn’t realize how little he knew about this boy he’d been in a band with for so long. Harry opened up to Zayn; he told him about all his insecurities and his feels. He was vulnerable and scared, but Zayn reassured him that he wouldn’t leave him like Louis did. He would pet Harry’s hair and whisper promises of forever and always into his ears, confirming to Harry that he wouldn’t let him break again and he wouldn’t be the one to do the breaking. Harry always smiled into Zayn’s chest at the words, nodding and trying to ignore the scent of perfume that stained his sheets.

Their sexual relationship progressed slowly. The more secrets shared and stories told, the more they became comfortable with each other and were able to relax and open up more. Harry fondly recalled the first time he spilled his release into Zayn’s hand and how Zayn kissed his chest after, murmuring to him how beautiful he was. He loved the way Zayn looked with Harry’s hands and mouth on him. How his face was wiped of all his worries and how he wasn’t guarded when Harry was kissing him and slowly stroking him. How soft and sweet he always looked after his orgasms, before he could build his walls back up and shut Harry off from his most vulnerable parts again.

Zayn always told his saddest stories after they’d had sex, after Harry had wiped him clean and he was collapsed on Harry’s chest, tracing his tattoos and breathing slowly as he started to drift off to sleep. When Zayn watched the intricate patterns his fingers were making as he spoke, his words heavy and sad, as Harry cried silent tears for his pain. Zayn talked about getting chased home from school and beaten up for kissing another boy on the playground. He told Harry stories of his family being harassed for their race, for people insulting his parents for not having the same skin tone. Harry always just held him closer and tried to kiss away the bad memories. 

Zayn returned this favor for Harry. He listened to Harry’s stories about his dad leaving. About how hard that was on him and Gemma. He let Harry talk about Louis and Eleanor. Zayn was the only one in the band besides Louis and Harry that knew anything more about their relationship. About how in love Harry was and how Louis had let him believe he loved him back. Zayn was the only one who really knew why it fell apart and how destroyed Harry was. Harry told Zayn that he had helped mend him and make him better. Harry let it slip, “I love you.” Zayn gasped and Harry tensed in horror.

“I love you, too, Harry.”

Zayn was still with Perrie, but he assured Harry it was just for show. Harry wondered if this is how their fans felt, insisting to themselves and believing that if any of the boys had a girlfriend, it was all management arranged. Harry knew Eleanor and Louis weren’t but had been foolishly hopeful that he had a chance. Unlike them, Zayn and Perrie were introduced and gently encouraged by management. Harry didn’t think it was very serious, since he was the one sleeping with Zayn every night. Although, Zayn didn’t wear the makeup or lily scented perfume that lingered on his sheet. Harry brushed it off, though, and tried to reassure himself with the fact that he was the one in Zayn’s arms every night, being told “I love you” and “you’re beautiful” when they went out together and kissed in public. Zayn always told him he would break it off eventually and that he was Harry’s, forever. Harry always nodded and let Zayn distract him from his questioning with kisses and sex.

Keeping things hidden from the other three was surprisingly easy. Zayn had always been the type to keep a hand on them, in a reassuring hold, so him touching Harry wasn’t suspicious. They had even been able to get away with a lot of ridiculous antics on stage. They were both shocked that the candy thong thing didn’t turn into a huge scandal. As for sex and cuddling, the others were always able to sleep, so they would just slip off to the lounge on the bus like they always used to, before it progressed into what they were now. Their whole tour, Zayn and Harry had only slept in their bunks maybe three times. They always woke up before the others and slipped back to where they were supposed to be. It was easier when they were in hotels, because they weren’t ever questioned while in hotels. Harry was able to slip into Zayn’s room without anybody seeing.

Hotels were something Harry always hated. Even before One Direction, as a child, he didn’t like going on holiday because it meant he’d have to sleep somewhere strange. He’d be in a room that didn’t look like his with foreign decorations and too many pieces of furniture for how small it was. The worst for him, though, was the sheets. Harry always had a hard time sleeping in sheets that didn’t smell like home. Hotel sheets were always stiff and fresh, they always smelled strongly of detergent. Harry’s mum had to start bringing along a pillowcase and blanket along on trips because Harry never slept. Before, when they first started, Harry had Louis to center him and calm him when he slept. Now he has Zayn. He doesn’t have to worry about the too fresh sheets and extra chairs because he can curl up in Zayn’s arms and inhale his scent of cologne and cigarettes.

Harry and Zayn had been in this sort of relationship they had for months. It started a couple months before the tour and continued on the tour. Harry was blissfully happy and found dealing with the struggles of his celebrity life easier because he had Zayn. Zayn, whom he was in love with, wholly and madly and fiercely, whom could never hurt him, whom loved him back and assured Harry that he was his. Harry clung to those words on nights on tour when Perrie was visiting. While he cried in his hotel room shower, he whispered to himself the promises Zayn had whispered to him. On nights when Zayn thought he was solidly asleep and skyped her, Harry ignored his words, pushed away the whispered sounds that were so often “I miss you” and “I can’t wait to see you again” and “I love you.” He always smiled triumphantly when Zayn crawled back into bed with him after, holding him tight and pressing little kisses to the back of his neck and shoulders.

Harry knew it was a lie when he came back with the tattoo. Zayn had disappeared with Louis and Liam for the day. Harry had hung out with Niall, going out for lunch and having a good day to bond, since they didn’t spend much time together alone anymore. The whole day, Harry tried to ignore the pang in his gut he always got when Zayn disappeared with Louis. It was hard for him to accept their friendship now, because Louis had already broken his heart and Zayn was now the one holding it, as sad and abused as it was. When the three of them got back, Zayn didn’t look at Harry. He averted his eyes while Liam and Louis gushed about the cool new addition to his arm to Harry and Niall. Harry nodded and smiled as they described how awesome the comic book style Perrie was. He blinked rapidly to quell the burning in his eyes when Zayn peeled off the bandage. He formed words as best he could around the lump in his throat when he made an excuse to leave the room and tore off away from the rest of them and to his room, needed to be alone with the heaviness in his chest.

When Louis had left him, he told him how sorry he was. He kept quietly apologizing, but his words were hollow and empty, and he wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes. As Harry sobbed and begged him not to move out, not to abandon him; when he grabbed at his arm and told him how he couldn’t be alone again, Louis had just softly pulled his arm away and grabbed his bag and left. It wasn’t angry; it was just sad and final. Harry had laid in Louis’s bed all the next day, sobbing and willing him to come back, to not leave him alone. Louis knew how broken Harry got when people left. Louis knew how dependent he was on others to keep him sane and happy and feeling worthwhile, but Louis still left him. He left Harry to go on vacation with Eleanor for two weeks. He hired people to move him out; he wouldn’t even come back to the flat and face Harry. Harry had been broken. He left their flat and moved in to a smaller place across town from where they used to live. He had nursed his broken heart and tried to get through the nights alone, crying into his sheets until he finally fell asleep.

When he started writing his song, they were on tour. Zayn had been comforting him in the lounge, but they hadn’t become them yet. He had wandered in one night as Harry was singing the words out loud to himself, the words that he had said to Louis as he was pulling away from him. “Don’t let me go.” Zayn had helped him work out the lyrics and the melody and never pushed Harry to explain the song to him. When Harry had finally told Zayn the story of Louis’s final goodbye and how Harry had begged him not to leave in the same words of his lyrics, Zayn had hugged him tighter and kissed him and told him he would never let him go.

Zayn didn’t follow Harry. Harry had gotten out of the room and the tears flowed immediately. When he had locked himself into his own room, the choked sobs started to wrack his body. He fell to the floor, his body shaking with his emotion. He tried to control it, knowing Paul would be collecting him soon, to go back on the bus and head off to the next city. Every time he had managed to almost steady his breathing or dry his tears, he remembered another promise of Zayn’s, and he’d lose control all over again. Harry couldn’t believe he’d let it happen again. He’d let himself believe that he would be chosen over someone else, that someone would love him more than the person they were already with. He cursed himself for being hopeful and believing, honestly believing, that he could possibly be someone’s first choice. When Paul knocked softly on the door, he managed to pull himself together a bit. He tried to ignore the hurt feeling of Zayn not coming to see him at all and he splashed his face with water, trying to hide the red splotches on his cheeks. He grabbed his bags and headed out to the bus.

No one but Niall would talk to him that night. Liam, Louis, and Zayn stayed in the front lounge all night and the latter two wouldn’t even look at him. Liam had smiled sadly at him but stayed with his friends. Niall had been the one to follow him into the back lounge and try to distract him with stories and lift his spirits with jokes. He was also kind enough to not ask what was going on. That night, Harry never bothered going back into his bunk. He stayed in the back lounge, staring at the ceiling of the bus, his mind empty as his chest. He didn’t bother to raise his head when someone came in at four, he knew who it was. He would recognize his scent anywhere. Harry didn’t look at him, didn’t move, as Zayn mumbled out his apologies and regrets. He didn’t blink as Zayn sad how awful he felt and told him how he loved him but he was in love with Perrie. Harry’s breathing didn’t change as he listened to Zayn plead with him for forgiveness and tell him he didn’t use him and it wasn’t like, he swears. Harry sat, motionless and silent, while Zayn stared, waiting for answers, before finally turning and leaving. Harry didn’t sleep that night and only finally stirred from his position when he had to change in the morning and head out to the arena for their show.

Harry managed to stifle his emotions through their next couple of shows before their brief break. He kept his onstage antics fun and happy before he could retire to the hotel and lie in his bed, unblinking. He didn’t cry over Zayn. This heartbreak was different. With Louis, it had been dramatic and earth shattering. He sobbed for months and it drove him into Zayn’s arms. Now, he was just empty. He had given Zayn all of himself, had showed him all the dark corners of himself, had been so open and incredibly vulnerable but trusting. Zayn saw this all, knew all of it, and broke him. Harry was now hopeless and empty. He had nothing left to give. He couldn’t cry because he couldn’t even think.

When the rest of the boys decided to fly back for their break, Harry stayed. He knew he wasn’t ready for nine hours on a plane with Zayn. He also knew he would never come back. He was broken, empty, and just wanted to be alone forever. If he had gotten on that plane, he would have disappeared, contract or not. He would never come back to the band or the boys. He would ruin everything and the fans would hate him. Instead, he stayed and tried to lose himself in the city, appeasing fans that found him with pictures and autographs, all while wishing he could melt away into the pavement forever.


End file.
